


Connections

by mmorgan317



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Nick Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmorgan317/pseuds/mmorgan317
Summary: At the end of 3.03 connections were made and payback was doled out. This is my take on it. Nick whump.
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt/Juliette Silverton, Rosalee Calvert/Monroe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted on Fanfiction.net. 
> 
> I really love how this one turned out and so thought I'd share it here as well.

**Preface**

" _You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing to his head._

_Nick pointed to his and responded, "Yeah, you too."  
_

**oOo**

They had made a deal. He knew it and he knew that Nick knew it. But somehow, Monroe couldn't find it in himself to fully care at the moment. Nick's tackle had only been a small surprise as the entire fight had been, essentially, staged, but once the connection had been made, the fight was on.

With every hit Nick made, Monroe returned one. The Grimm managed to keep his blows light, showing just how little muscle he was putting into them. But Monroe was too angry and, okay, maybe he did hold a little bit of a grudge against his friend for the beating he'd received while Nick had been a zombie. He made sure that every hit he landed, not only connected but hurt.

By the end of the fight, Nick wasn't trying to be gentle anymore and Monroe saw stars with one of Nick's punches. It was only fair, he supposed, since he hadn't been showing the Grimm any mercy the entire time. But his more animal side didn't register the logic; it registered the renewed threat and it answered in kind. With the new pain, he give a vicious growl and kicked Nick as hard as he could, sending the detective flying towards where Hank and the murderer stood a few feet away. He landed hard on the unforgiving ground and the more human – and less angry side – winced at the sound. That was going to hurt later on, that was for sure.

Monroe was just about to charge the pig when Nick was suddenly up in front of him, with his gun pointed at Monroe. The blutbad had to admit, the Grimm was a good actor. He almost believed the entire scenario that Nick was painting for the chef. Okay, so he knew that the Grimm didn't _really_ want to shoot him, and they had planned it so that it would only look like he had, but the fear and pleading in his eyes looked real enough to Monroe to calm the wolf inside and bring him back to reality. Back to the plan.

He focused on putting all his anger into his speech as he talked, choosing to use the blood slowly sliding down the side of Nick's face to bring the wolf out rather than zeroing in on the guilt he could feel coming at causing the wound in the first place.

Among the multiple howls from Monroe's fellow blutbadden friends, he could hear Nick's rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. Knowing that he must have done some damage to the detective's side when he'd kicked him, Monroe stilled the instant wince that wanted to come onto his face. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to dole out as much payback as he had. Then again, Nick could have stopped him if he'd wanted to so maybe Monroe shouldn't feel so bad after all.

 _You mean he could have_ tried _to stop you,_ an animalistic voice echoed inside his head and bringing forth a picture of him in full woge, smiling tauntingly. It was hard not to react to the idea and the image – he _was_ supposed to be playing dead after all – but he managed it.

Assuaging the guilt seemed the easier thing to do and so that was what he did. He waited until he could no longer hear the Dodge before he got off the ground, wincing a little as he did so. His face was beginning to ache quite a bit by now and so he thanked his friends and headed to the precinct to meet up with Nick, Hank, and Captain Renard as was planned.

He listened with barely controlled anger as the pig showed no remorse while he signed the confession. Going to jail seemed too light a punishment to Monroe but he knew that Nick was cop before he was a Grimm and so he tried to let it be enough, just like Nick had done when Angelina had escaped arrest the first time they'd met.

"You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing at where he now held an ice pack against his face. He, of course, ignored the way Nick was moving a bit stiffly and more gingerly just so he wouldn't have to feel the guilt that he knew would be waiting for him if he acknowledged it.

"Yeah, you did too," Nick reminded him, pointing at the cut at the corner of his eye. Thankfully it was a small one and had been attended to. Though he wouldn't come right out and admit it, Monroe still wanted to pay Nick back some more for the epic beating and so he really didn't have that great a control over his inner wolf at the moment. The smell of the Grimm's blood would be a little too tantalizing for him to resist and Monroe knew that he would be on his friend, attacking with vigor, before he could even register what he was doing.

By some silent agreement, the two agreed to call it even and didn't start pointing out all the different places that they had hurt one another – which Monroe had no doubt they would have started to do soon if they hadn't stopped. Captain Renard made a very bad pun about the common Little Piggies nursery rhyme and that was that. The case was closed and Monroe and his friends were safe.

**oOo**

Hank, Nick and Monroe walked out of the precinct together, being told to go home and get some rest by the Captain. Nick and Monroe were quiet as they walked and Hank stole a glance at the two friends in an effort to determine why.

The clockmaker kept glancing slyly over at Nick, his eyes tracing over the cut by Nick's eye. If Hank had to guess, he'd say that the taller man felt bad for the punishment he'd given Nick and while Hank could understand why the wesen had done it, he also believed that he should feel bad.

They'd all agreed that it hadn't been Nick's fault, whatever he'd done while under the Baron's influence. Now, granted, being able to mentally know that and emotionally believe it were two very different and difficult things. Heck, Hank had been tempted to goad Nick into the training area for a bit of payback himself, but eventually the detective had been able to let things go. Mostly.

Apparently Monroe hadn't been able to do any such thing.

Nick winced as he shifted to get out of the way of some incoming uni's and Hank instinctively reached out a hand to steady him when it looked as though he may be a bit unsure on his feet. As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Nick had been fine, if not in pain, and hadn't needed the helping hand. In fact, he winced at the contact of Hank's hand on his arm.

Tired of knowing that his friend and partner was hurt but not knowing how badly, Hank said, "You okay?" He doubted that he'd get a real answer from Nick but he figured he'd better try at least.

"Yeah," Nick answered, actually managing to make it sound like the truth. "Just been a long day."

All three of them knew that it hadn't been that long of a day compared to some they've had in the past but they all let it slide. God knows the week had been long enough. Things were just beginning to calm down after the whole Baron fiasco and people were slowly beginning to accept or forget what had happened. Hank knew that everything Nick had done, every injury he'd caused and the life he'd taken were still weighing heavily on the younger detective, but since there wasn't anything he could do for that, he left him be.

"Come on," he said, nodding his head in the direction the Dodge was parked. "I'll take you home. Maybe Juliette can make you feel better."

He hadn't meant it the way it had come out, but Monroe had snorted and Nick had let out a breathy laugh anyways. The way Nick tried not to breathe too deeply reminded Hank of when he'd been beaten up by Stark, landing him in the hospital, badly bruised. Man, if Nick was hurting that much to have Hank connecting this incident to that, he was really hurting. One look at Monroe told him that the clockmaker had made the same connection and he quickly averted his eyes to hide his embarrassment.

"You know," the taller man said before they could part, "I think Rosalee might have something that could help back at the Spice Shop."

"Thanks, Monroe," Nick said, sounding every bit as exhausted as he looked. "But I'm really just tired. I think I'll just go home."

"No, you won't," Hank argued with a scoffed laugh. He didn't actually know if the shop owner had something to help Nick but it had to be better to have Monroe and Hank there with him to make him behave rather than leaving it all up to Juliette who had been showing the strain of the past week as obviously as she had a smile.

When Nick turned to glare at him, Hank shook his head and held up his hand to stall any argument. "We both know that you will go home, tell Juliette that you're fine and go to bed and judging from the way you're walking, the bruised ribs could use some attention."

"Great. That's settled then," Monroe said a little too cheerily while not giving Nick a chance to persuade them that he was okay when he wasn't. "I'll just, you know, let Rosalee know what's goin on and meet you there."

"Okay," Hank answered, knowing that Nick wasn't going to. His partner hated being manhandled into taking care of himself and therefore he was quietly stewing in anger. Hank once again nodded to the Dodge and said, "Come on." He stepped aside, ready to herd Nick towards the vehicle if it was needed.

Recognizing defeat when it was staring him in the face, Nick did as he was told, not even bothering to argue, though he did glare quite a bit. Hank frowned at the lack of response from his friend but he didn't comment. He followed behind the other man until he was in the car and – after many winces and a couple grimaces – buckled in. Then and only then did he climb into the driver's seat and drive off towards the Spice Shop.

Nick sat silently in the passenger seat, holding himself as still as possible. His eyes were closed but Hank could tell by how tightly his friend's jaw was clenched that he wasn't asleep.

"I thought Grimms were supposed be stronger," he pointed out, hoping to distract Nick from his discomfort.

"We are," Nick responded, his breath hitching when Hank hit a bump in the road. "It doesn't help so much when we're fighting a wesen in full woge, though." His breath hitched again and then he added, "Then, we're pretty much even."

"Yeah, speaking of that, I thought you and Monroe were only going to play-fight. When did it actually turn into bruising one another?"

"Evidently Monroe is still a little upset about the beating I gave him while under the Baron's influence," Nick answered, sounding not entirely sure if that was the true case or not. His voice lost a bit of its shakiness, replacing in it a bar of steel that chilled Hank despite the warmth of the car.

Hank supposed that if he hadn't known his partner as well as he had, he wouldn't have heard the anger in his voice. He would have supposed it for something else entirely. Then again, he probably would have thought it was anger, he just would have thought it was aimed at him rather than at Nick himself. The older detective sighed.

"Stop beating yourself up for that, man," he lectured. Since this conversation had taken place precisely five times previous, however, Hank knew that his words would fall on deaf ears. He still said them anyways. "It wasn't your fault and you know it."

''Ask Juliette how it felt to be hit by you'," Nick whispered, reminding Hank what he'd thrown in Nick's face when he was going to confess for the murder. "That's what you said. And now you're telling me it wasn't my fault. One minute you're all trying to convince me that it's all okay and that it's all forgotten and then the next minute you're all reminding me in some form or another that I am, or was, a monster. Sometimes, I wish you'd all make up your minds."

Where the hell had that come from?!

Yeah, so Hank _may_ have been a bit harsh when he'd been confronting the Grimm about turning himself in but he hadn't thought that his words would have, ever, been thrown back in his face. That was normally something that women did, not Nick. Then again, if they'd been going through Nick's head over and over again, it probably wasn't out of spite that Nick was giving them back to him; they'd more than likely hurt his friend on a deeper level than Hank could have supposed.

"Who's been telling you that you're a monster?" Hank asked, barely controlling himself in time to stop from slamming on the breaks and no doubt adding to Nick's pain. Even so, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles losing a bit of their color.

"Doesn't matter," Nick dismissed, this time looking out the window. It was obvious that, to him, the conversation was over. Hank thought about pressing it but he knew that now wasn't the time for it, so he didn't. Maybe Rosalee could talk some sense into him. She or Juliette usually seemed to get through when no one else could.

They pulled up alongside the curb outside the shop and Hank waited to make sure that Nick was actually going to exit before he began undoing his seatbelt and got out. Even so, he and Nick exited at the same time. The Grimm was trying to appear as though he was fine but Hank could still see the pain in his posture.

"Nick, what happened?" Rosalee greeted in surprise when she spotted the pair.

Hank looked over at Monroe who shied away a bit, looking sheepish. "I thought you were going to call her and tell her what had happened?" the detective questioned.

At this, everyone turned their attention onto the blutbad who gave a non-committal shrug.

"I _may_ have left out a few things," he answered, stretching the word 'may'.

"I'll say," Hank said, guessing at precisely why he'd left out certain details.

While they talked, Hank and Rosalee got Nick into the back room and sat him down on the bed. Nick winced as the springs bounced him up and down but he made no sound of pain. It was starting to get on Hank's nerves, actually, the stoicism. It was so completely obvious that Nick was in pain, despite what he was pretending otherwise, and yet the man still seemed determined not to admit it.

"Okay, both of you, out," Rosalee commanded. Her gentle nature was still there but when she said something, Monroe generally went along with it as though she were a commanding officer.

Knowing that Nick was in good hands with her, Hank left the room and closed the door behind him.

**oOo**

Nick heard the door close and he felt it vibrate through his pounding head with surround-sound force. His eye twitched as he stifled a wince but that was all the show of pain he would allow.

He'd known from the first hard hit that Monroe wasn't sticking to the plan. He'd also known that he could have matched the blutbad force for force and given his friend the same beat-down that he was determined to give him. But he didn't. Somehow, Nick felt that he deserved the beating that he was being given and so he'd allowed Monroe to vent.

It wasn't until he'd landed in the kegs, twisting his wrist beneath his weight – though you wouldn't have known it since he'd pretended that he was fine – that he'd begun to match the blutbad's force. Even so, Monroe kept up his strength and landed one last well-aimed kick on Nick's side, sending him flying towards Hank and the chef and bruising his ribs in the process. It seemed that that was the last of Monroe's anger and he appeared to simmer down and go back to the plan after that.

From then on the night was a bit of a blur. Between convincing the chef to confess and pretending that he was absolutely fine sans the cut by his eyebrow had taken up all of his concentration and all he'd wanted to do was go home and sleep it off. He knew from experience that the bruised ribs wouldn't heal that quickly but he'd decided to take care of that in the morning.

It appeared that he wasn't going to be allowed to do that, however, as Hank practically had pushed him in the direction of the Dodge and then proceeded to inform him that he was going to go to the Spice Shop and have Rosalee take a look at him. She may not be a doctor but there wasn't any doubt between the three men that she'd have something in the shop that could help with the pain.

"Nick," Rosalee's gentle voice called, grabbing his attention.

He looked down at her – she was kneeling on the floor in front of him – and she raised her eyebrows.

"What happened?" she asked, apparently repeating herself.

"Got into a fight," Nick replied, making sure to do his best not to implicate Monroe since it was obvious the blutbad didn't want to be brought into it. That was one thing he had heard – that Monroe had left out certain details – and while he'd found it amusing, he respected the blutbad's wishes.

"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, looking a bit confused, though sympathetically so.

"I'm fine," he said, doing his best to make her believe it.

"You know, no offense Nick but I know you're lying," she said, calling him out. She gave him a smile to let him know that she wasn't upset. "So, how about you tell me how you're really feeling?" She reached out and gripped his injured wrist, making him gasp in unexpected pain. "I can already see that you've sprained your wrist, so what else is hurt?"

The idea of telling Rosalee 'what hurts' made Nick want to laugh. Since he knew that that _would_ hurt, and a lot, he stifled the urge and settled for smiling instead, though it didn't last near as long as it normally would have.

Rosalee chuckled a little, apparently getting why he was smiling.

"Okay, I know it sounds like I'm treating you like a child, but it's the best way for me to determine how to help you."

Getting it, Nick nodded and then proceeded to stop with a wince.

"Uh, my head is pounding a little, my side is a little sore, and my knee aches a bit," he summarized, focusing on the specific parts of his body that hurt. He was surprised by the knee hurting, but he didn't spend too much time contemplating what was wrong with it.

"Okay, let's see what's wrong," Rosalee said, almost as though to herself. She reached out, hesitantly, and lifted his shirt to take a look at his side. Her wince let him know how ugly the bruise was without having to see it for himself. "Was the attacker wesen?" she asked as she began to prod the tender side.

"Ho!" Nick cried out in spite of himself. He hadn't been expecting the sudden surge of fire that had seared through his side at her touch and therefore hadn't been able to stifle his reaction to the pain. His body clenched and his torso tried to curl into the pain. Her hands stopped him before he could hurt himself more and he leaned into their chill.

"Sorry," she said, wincing a little bit in sympathy. She got off the floor and went over to one of her shelves, pulling a jar of something off as she did so. She came back and knelt back down. The sound of metal upon glass echoed through the room and seemed to reverberate through his aching head, as she unscrewed the lid and set it aside.

This time when he sucked in his breath, it wasn't from pain but from cold. The ointment that she was gently spreading across his side was cold and thick, almost sticky like honey. Her fingers were careful as she ghosted over the tender flesh, rubbing the goo in.

Once she'd finished with his side, she gingerly grabbed his arm and began adding the ointment to his wrist. Here she added a bit more pressure, making sure to get the salve spread as evenly and as thoroughly as she could. It hurt and once or twice Nick had to stop himself from snatching his arm out of her grasp, but he let her do it since this was the reason he'd come.

After she'd finished with his side and wrist, Rosalee got up and grabbed a couple compression bandages that Nick knew she kept around for when one of the boys was hurt and didn't want to – or couldn't – go to the hospital. She nimbly wrapped one around his hand and halfway up his forearm and then began to wrap the other one around his side. The throbbing in both areas quieted down exponentially once they'd been treated and Nick wondered whether it was because of the ointment or the bandages.

"Okay," Rosalee said on an exhale. "Let's see what's wrong with your knee, shall we?"

She tried pushing his pants-leg up, but she couldn't get it high enough to examine the joint and so she stopped. Without a word, she got up and went over to a drawer, pulling out what appeared to be a pair of exercise shorts before coming back.

"Here," she said, tossing Nick the clothing. "You're going to have to take off your pants in order for me to get a look at your knee. You can wear those until I'm done."

She then proceeded to turn around, giving Nick as much privacy as she could while remaining in the room so that he could change.

Eyeing the shorts warily, Nick began to do as was expected. He was stiff and sore from the fight and his head sent a merciless throb throughout his brain, ending just behind his right eye, but he managed to do it and rather swiftly. His knee was swollen and hard to bend so he'd had to work around that, his eyes quickly cataloguing the signs of a strain before he slipped the shorts on and sat back down.

Rosalee turned back around and once again knelt on the floor so that she could examine his knee.

"Did Monroe do this?" she asked as her hands wandered around the outside of the bruising.

Nick was too stunned to answer for a minute and then his breath was stolen from his lungs when she began feeling around the knee-joint itself.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, panting a little as his erratic breathing awoke the fire in his side. The cold of the ointment was back, this time being worked into his knee, and he felt himself relax a little.

"I know that you two had a plan for getting the chef to confess," she began, her eyes remaining focused solely on her task. "And I also noticed the bruises on Monroe's face which coincided with the tearing on your knuckles."

She briefly looked up to gauge his response and then looked back down, switching the jar out for another bandage.

"I thought the fight was staged," she said as she began wrapping his leg.

"It was," Nick granted, unsure of what all he should say.

"Monroe didn't stick to the script?" she asked, once again looking up. She nodded when he said nothing and got up to go wash her hands. "I was worried that he wouldn't."

At this, Nick's eyebrows rose and he found that his attention was focused on her. She smiled sadly at him as she explained.

"He's had some difficulty sweeping your fight with him, the captain, and Hank under the rug. A part of him realizes that it wasn't your fault but the rest of him feels hurt, in a way, that you didn't recognize him as a friend and stop."

Feeling his eyes begin to fill with tears, Nick looked down. So he'd been right. Monroe had wanted some payback. And he highly doubted that tonight was enough to suffice – if he was as much an animal as Hank had described him to be.

"I see," he said, clearing his throat so that he could sound a bit steadier. He blinked, allowing the tears to fall harmlessly onto the floor and then took a big breath in, willing the rest of them away. "Well, maybe when I get better, I'll let him get it out of his system."

The words were meant to be an assurance. Something to show that he wasn't angry or bothered by the honesty. Instead they came out sounding just as bitter and hurt as he felt and Nick cringed at the sound of it.

Small but strong arms wrapped around him as he found himself engulfed in a hug. She was mindful of his injuries as she slipped under his left side so that she could hold him up a little as well as not hurt him further.

Shocked though he was, Nick returned the gesture as much as he dared. He was at a loss as to explain _why_ Rosalee was currently hugging him. After all, he'd tried to kill – apparently – her boyfriend – and his best friend – as well as his partner and boss, not to mention the backhand he'd given Juliette. Why would she feel it was necessary to give him comfort after he'd done all that?

"Nick, listen to me _very carefully,_ " she instructed as she pulled away. She kept a grip on his arms, her touch gentling when he winced at the pressure she'd put on a couple bruises there. "None of this was your fault. You are not the monster that you believe yourself to be and you are not to blame for how you acted. You were poisoned and you would have died if you'd been left untreated for too much longer."

"That doesn't negate the fact that I tried to kill Monroe, Hank and the Captain," he argued, unable to dismiss the events of the past week or so away as easily as she was. Maybe it was his stubbornness but he just wasn't able to let go.

Rosalee stepped back, offering him a little smile. "No, it doesn't," she granted. "But it doesn't automatically condemn you either."

 _No, everyone else seems to be doing that,_ his mind immediately grumbled. Even so, Nick kept his mouth shut. Having the same conversation over and over again wasn't helping anything and it wasn't changing his mind. There was no longer a need to keep having it.

"Well, thanks for the help," he said, beginning to limp towards the door. It was then that he stopped and thought about what he was wearing. He painfully pivoted and offered her a slight smile. "Any chance I could have my pants back?"

**oOo**

Rosalee walked back into the main part of the shop, closing the door to the back room behind her. Nick was changing out of the gym shorts and back into his pants. She had reservations about whether or not that was a good idea but she'd kept her mouth shut. It was cold out. And besides, the shorts were Monroe's and she doubted that either Nick or Monroe wanted to have Nick take them home.

Hank and Monroe sat in separate chairs, the silence between them seeming comfortable enough. Every once in a while they would look at each other and then some form of communication would pass between them but it was always silent. When they noticed her, their attentions focused on her, the question of how Nick was doing in their eyes. Their concern for their friend was heartwarming but it wasn't as though Nick was in very grave danger so she also found it a bit odd.

Leaving the two of them to stew in their own worries and minds, Rosalee went behind the bar and started organizing a few orders that she had coming in first thing in the morning.

She wasn't sure how she felt about Monroe using the staged fight to pay Nick back. On the one hand she could understand it. Like she'd told Nick, he'd been struggling to reconcile himself fully to the knowledge that it hadn't really been Nick who had tried to beat him to death. His more animalistic side wanted, needed, payback and it seemed that it got it tonight. Being the only one who hadn't been hurt by Nick, Rosalee probably wasn't a good judge. She knew from talking with her that Juliette was having troubles with letting Nick touch her. Every time he tried to get close, she would put him off, telling him that he needed rest or she would minutely flinch at his touch. It was getting better, she'd been told, but it still happened. So who was she to condemn Monroe for trying to settle things in his own way?

The door to the back room opened and Nick exited. He still moved stiffly but, thanks to the liniment that she'd applied, it had lessened by a lot. He limped - albeit barely - out into the main room and did his best to hide his injured wrist from his friends, offering them tired smiles.

"There, the doctor has seen me. Can I go home now?" he asked, practically whining. Rosalee had to stop a smile from creasing her face at the tone in his voice as it was kinda cute to hear that coming from a 30+ year old man. Evidently the only reason he'd come was because Hank and Monroe had forced him to.

"I don't know. Doc, how is he?" Hank asked, now forcing her to answer their question from earlier.

"He'll be fine," she said. Then she looked expressly at Nick, wanting to make sure that he got the upcoming message loud and clear. "Providing he takes it easy for the next week, he'll be good as new."

"Well, as much as I'd love to just sit around at home, I'm not sure I'll be able to manage that," Nick quipped, essentially pointing out that 'taking it easy' was simply not in his job description.

"Then it'll take a bit longer, but eventually, you'll be fine." She smiled, knowing that they both already knew that. "And now it's time for the Spice Shop to officially close. So if you don't mind, gentlemen, it's time for you all to go home."

"Come on, I'll drive you home," Hank said, jerking his head in the direction of the Dodge that was parked outside. "Thanks Rosalee."

"Yes, thank you," Nick added, his smile genuine.

"Anytime Nick," she answered, meaning it. She didn't like how often this group got hurt but she was happy to help.

The two left the shop with the bell on the door ringing their exit.

"So," Monroe said, a little too cheerily. "What should we do tonight?"

Rosalee cuddled up to her boyfriend. She loved the way his eyes glowed red with pleasure every time she did that. As well as the growl that bubbled in his chest as he held her close.

"Well," she said, drawing out the pleasure a little bit longer. "I figured we could close up the shop, go home, and go to bed."

"And here I thought we were actually going to do something fun," he pouted with a slight scoff. "This is punishment, isn't it?"

"What would you need punishing for?" Rosalee innocently asked as she gathered up the things she'd used for Nick and put them away. "I mean, you only beat the crap out of your best friend."

She looked over her shoulder in time to see Monroe wince. "He told you about that, huh?"

"Actually, no. I had to guess. He was very vague about what had happened to him."

"He was?" Surprise not only sounded through Monroe's voice but it also shone on his face. Had Monroe thought that Nick would seriously sell him out?

"Yeah, he was," she answered on a laugh. "I don't think he wanted to get you into trouble." She paused, debating on saying what she was going to say next and then added, "Or maybe he thought he deserved the pain."

"That's ridiculous," Monroe scoffed, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking out onto the midnight Portland street with her.

"Is it?" she challenged, looking up at him and separating them.

"Well yeah," he answered as though it was perfectly obvious.

"Why's that?"

"Because what happened while he was a zombie wasn't his fault. He knows that."

They climbed into Monroe's VW and then started heading for their house. Rosalee was tempted to respond, taking her parting shot then and there, but she refrained. She waited until they had entered the house and had the door locked before she answered.

"I imagine it's hard for him to believe that when his closest friends are punishing him for it. One way or another."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Okay, so I’m sure that Juliette was aware of the case with Ostler, but I’m pretending that she wasn’t privy to a lot of it. Sorry if you don’t like it but that’s just how it worked out. 

When Nick walked through the front door, Juliette froze. She hater herself for her reaction to him but she couldn’t help it. Every time he walked in on her unexpectedly, she saw the zombie version of him and it scared her. She hoped that she hid her reactions from him - and judging from the lack of mention of it from him, she had - because she didn’t want him blaming himself for anything else. Nick seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders lately and she didn’t want to add to it.

Tonight he scared her more than usual. She had been expecting him for quite some time; so long, in fact, that she had actually begun to be less alert and simply sit and wait. So when he had finally come, she had been more surprised. Then there was the cut over his right eye. Though it wasn’t bruised and red like his eyes had been when he’d been a zombie, it still made her flash back to that night and she flinched, fidgeting to hide the action and then standing up.

“What happened?” she asked with real concern. He looked exhausted, and though the cut was small, she also noted a bandage wrapped around his wrist and a limp in his step.

Nick gave her a tired smile and grabbed at her arm with his injured hand. Giving her arm a little rub, he said, “It’s nothing. A suspect was a little more resistant to being taken in.”

“I thought that your suspect was a chef,” Juliette argued, knowing that there _had_ to be more to it than that.

Nick nodded, making his limping way into the living room before gingerly sitting down on the couch. “A bauerschwein.” When he noticed that that didn’t necessarily mean anything to her, he added, “It’s kind of like a pig. They’re not violent by nature, but this one was hell-bent on revenge.”

“And he took that out on you.” Juliette still didn’t necessarily believe him but as the idea seemed probable, she couldn’t very well rationally argue against it either. He nodded but that was all the reply she was going to get. From where she stood, she could see that his eyes were drooping and staying shut longer every time he tried to reopen them. “Come on,” she said and his eyes snapped open. She held out her hand, more than okay with physical contact when she was the one to initiate it. “Let’s get you to bed.”

His movements were slow and sluggish as he reached up and grabbed hold of her hand. As gently as she could, Juliette helped ease him off the couch and then proceeded to herd him up to the bedroom. The stairs were slow-going and got even slower with every stair he climbed. By the time he’d gotten to the landing at the top, his limp was very heavy and, if possible, he was moving even more carefully. Whatever had happened tonight had left him hurting.

While Nick got undressed and climbed into bed, Juliette went to the bathroom and pulled out some Tylenol. Sadly, she doubted that it would make much of a difference in how Nick was feeling but as it was the strongest painkiller they had in the house, it would have to do. After grabbing the medication, she filled up the spare glass that they kept in the bathroom for when they got thirsty and didn’t want to go downstairs and then took both over to him. Nick’s face seemed frozen into an expression of pain, his breathing shallow from it. His eyes opened when she came close and once again, Juliette found herself having to refrain from flinching back. She _had_ to stop doing that!

“Here,” she said, handing him a couple pills and the glass of water that she had filled. She waited until he’d swallowed them both down before replacing the cup back in the bathroom. She was careful climbing into bed next to him, worried about accidentally hurting him more.

Quiet filled the room. Juliette assumed that he had fallen asleep and so she remained silent while she, too, tried to rest. When he spoke, then, she jumped.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, his voice almost sad-sounding.

“Do what?”

“You flinch when I reach out to touch you,” he observed and this time she could _definitely_ hear sadness in his voice. God, she did _not_ want to have this conversation right now.

“Look, Nick, I know that what you did while under the influence wasn’t your fault. But, it’s hard for me to separate that you and you you.” He scoffed and she winced, realizing how that sounded. “Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She paused to gather her thoughts and organize them. Sitting up and positioning herself so that she was facing him with her right hip by his, she grabbed his left hand and held onto it. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw tears streaming down the side of his face and the pain in his eyes. She hated that she had been cause of them both. “I know that you would never hurt me,” she earnestly assured. “But it’s going to take some time for me to reconcile the zombie you as different. You wore the same face and used the same hands; it’s just going to take some time.”

Even without Nick taking his hand out of hers, Juliette had felt him withdrawing from her. The reminder of what he’d done while a zombie always made him do that, and the fact that she was also reminding him that he’d hit her wasn’t helping. They hadn’t actually talked about what had happened, beyond the result of the guy dying in the bar fight. It was too sensitive a subject for Nick, and herself she realized, for either of them to bring it up.

When Nick looked at her again, the tears and pain were still there but there was also pleading. His right hand flinched as though he had planned on reaching out to her but had stopped himself. “I am _so_ sorry,” he said and Juliette thought that she could hear begging in his voice. He needed her to forgive him, for them to go back to how they were. But as much as she wanted to as well, she couldn’t yet. As she had said, she needed time.

“I know,” she said, “and I forgive you.” Relief flooded his face and this time it was her that pulled away. “But I still need some time,” she said, now lying down on her side, though still facing him.

Another tear fell, soaking into the light blue pillowcase. Nick blinked, refusing to look at her, choosing instead to remain focused on the ceiling. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.

Juliette reached out and gently ran her hand down the left side of his face. He winced and she briefly wondered if he had been hit on that side and she just hadn’t noticed it. Pulling away and turning over so that her back was to him, she curled into her pillow, doing her best to shut out the nightmares that she knew waited for her. “You too,” she whispered. Then, in the sill silence of the room, Juliette slept.

**oOo**

By the time that morning came, Nick felt much worse. The bruises had settled and his muscles were stiff and sore. His head pounded so much so that he dreaded opening his eyes and letting the sun in. When his alarm went off, Nick jumped mildly, eyes shooting open. With a groan he closed them again and simply laid there. Work was going to suck a big one today.

“Nick, you okay?” Juliette’s voice called from the bathroom. No doubt she was getting ready for an early-morning appointment. His alarm went off a little after six in the morning and she usually didn’t get up until after that.

“Yeah,” he called back loudly enough to be heard through the door. With a more stifled groan, he slowly sat up, hissing when his bruised side groaned in protest. _I should call in,_ he thought. _Yeah, and what would be your excuse? You can’t exactly say that you got beat up by a supernaturally-strong creature._ Abandoning that thought with a grimace, Nick stood up. He readjusted his stance so that he wasn’t putting quite so much weight on his injured leg and then began to limp around. Coffee was _definitely_ needed.

He hadn’t gone more than ten steps when his phone, which still lay on the table beside his side of the bed, started ringing. Clenching his teeth, Nick made his way back over to the bed and then grabbed his phone. Seeing Hank’s name on the caller ID, Nick settled onto the bed, doing his best not to pant as he answered, “Burkhardt.”

 _“Hey, how you feeling?”_ Nick smiled, appreciating that his partner didn’t mince words first thing in the morning. Actually, he sounded amazingly awake given the hour. Of all the people what were _not_ morning people, Hank was king. He hated the mornings, often not coming in until around ten, at least two hours _after_ Nick got there.

“Good morning to you too,” Nick joked. “I’m fine.”

Through the phone, Hank snorted. _“And I’m George Clooney.”_

“Well, you _are_ always telling us how ruggedly handsome you are.” They both knew that Nick was hurting but it was good to banter. It was a step in the direction of normality and with the way things had been the past few weeks, normal was definitely needed.

_“Should I tell the Captain that you won’t be in today?”_

Nick shifted on the bed, getting back up. Sometime during his brief talk with Hank, Juliette had finished in the bathroom and had gone downstairs. Nick, obviously, hadn’t heard her but he could smell the coffee that she had brewing in the kitchen. With his teeth clenched, he slowly started gathering his clothing, laying them on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

“Why would you do that?” he asked as he grabbed the towel and set it down on the closed toilet lid. Nice as this house was, it did have some inconvenient corners. One of the towel racks, the one that Juliette used, was close to the shower, but the other was clear across the bathroom, leaving Nick with always gathering it before he stepped into the shower.

 _“Nick, I know you’re hurting.”_ Hank’s tone suggested that the banter was done and that he was serious now. _“It’s fine if you would rather take a day off.”_

“So I can do what? Watch my girlfriend flinch every time I get near her?” Since Hank was being so serious, Nick decided to be so as well. What he hadn’t anticipated was the bitterness. He’d meant the statement to come out as a joke, not as a vent for some of the frustration he was feeling.

 _“Nick,”_ Hank said, his tone a mixture between a sigh and pity.

“Yeah, Hank, I get it. I wasn’t myself and nobody blames me. But the thing is, Hank, I think you all _do_ blame me, at least on some level.”

Nick felt himself growing angrier and angrier. Oh, he knew that they all had a perfect right to feel as they did; that since _he_ blamed himself, he couldn’t fault them for doing the same thing. The problem came in that they kept telling him that they _didn’t_. Nick either wished that they’d stop giving him meaningless platitudes or they’d let it go and stop reminding him about all the things that he’d done wrong lately.

There was silence on the other side of the call where Nick assumed that Hank didn’t know what to say. With a sigh, Nick pinched the bridge of his nose with his injured hand, though it did nothing for the headache that pounded through his skull. “Look, I’ll see you at the precinct, okay?”

Another beat of silence and then, _“Yeah, okay. But if you think that you’re going to be doing anything more than paperwork today, you are sorely mistaken.”_

Nick smiled, hanging up without responding. They never knew what their work day had in store for them so Nick knew that neither one of them truly had a say in _what_ Nick did or didn’t do today at work, though he wouldn’t put it past Hank to get the Captain to force Nick to stay at the desk.

As that was all a worry for later, Nick turned the shower on, waited for it to warm up, and then got inside. Whatever would be, would be, right?

**oOo**

Juliette went upstairs, carrying two cups of coffee in her hands. She’d heard Nick’s phone ring and since she doubted that he’d be up to going up and down the stairs twice this morning, she figured that she would go down and get the brew going. Then, when she heard the shower kick on, she decided that she’d bring him up a cup instead.

When she walked into the bedroom, she was half glad that the bathroom door was open and half surprised. She was glad because it meant that Nick wasn’t trying to create any more distance between them then they already had, but she was also surprised because she had expected him to want to lick his wounds in private, as it were. Still, since the door _was_ open, Juliette took the cup in there to him, stopping in the doorway in shock.

Nick stood with his back to her, awkwardly trying to shave using the mirror. He hadn’t seemed to notice her yet so she settled for simply staying where she was and staring. The left side of his back had tendrils of reds and blues stringing towards his spine. They reminded her of some sort of grotesque wall vines, alive with their own malicious intent, seeming to move of their own accord, though she knew that that was simply because he was moving his left arm some. He shifted a little, giving her a better view of his left side and she stifled a gasp as she saw the bruising surrounding the middle of his ribs.

“Is that for me?”

Jumping, forgetting that she had been staring without his permission, Juliette’s gaze flicked from his injury to his face, his blue eyes a little icier than normal. They flicked to the coffee cup in her hands and she shook herself. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, though what, specifically, she was apologizing for, she couldn’t say. “Are you sure you should be going in to work?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” he almost growled exasperatedly. “I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t look fine,” she retorted, her eyes once again sneaking down to look at his side. “Are you sure that nothing’s broken?”

Putting down his razor and, limpingly, turning to face her, Nick grabbed the coffee cup from her outstretched hand. “Yes,” he said with enough strength to assure her that he thought it true. “Believe me, I would know if it was.”

That was true enough, but Juliette was still doubtful. Now that he was facing her, she had a chance to examine him a little better and her frown returned. He was obviously trying favoring one leg but with the towel wrapped around his waist, she couldn’t see the cause; she could only tell that it wasn’t because of an ankle injury. But that wasn’t what had her frowning. It was his side. It looked so much worse from the front, the different hues of a deep, painful bruise coalescing into a single, pointed spot. “Did someone kick you?”

This time she stepped closer, the girlfriend in her mixing with her skills as a healer - albeit of animals - taking over completely. Setting her own coffee down, she gently forced him to lift his arm so that she could take a better look. She didn’t dare touch the truly painful-looking part, but she did skim just around it. It was enough to let her know that, as he had said, nothing was broken, but his breath had caught and he had hissed in pain.

“You should put some ice on that before you go in,” she said, stepping back to give him some room.

“Juliette, I’m fine,” he replied, this time with more affection than annoyance. Again, his hand twitched but he made no further move.

Getting frustrated with herself, and with her own weakness, Juliette stepped forward, grabbed his right hand and placed it against her cheek. He winced, reminding her that that hand was injured as well, but otherwise showed nothing on his face.

“I know that I said that I needed time,” she said, staring determinedly into his eyes, “but _never_ refrain from reaching out.” He brought his other hand up to her cheek, lowering his right, and she continued, “I need time to get over this but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to feel your touch. Okay?”

Nick swallowed, tears welling in his eyes, though this time they weren’t from pain. “Okay.”

She leaned in, giving him as passionate a kiss as she dared to at the moment, then withdrew. “I have to go,” she said, going into the bedroom and grabbing the light jacket that she had planned to wear today. “Ice your side before you go in.”

“Yes mom!” he called back, his voice trailing down the stairs after her. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

Things would get back to normal soon enough. For now, she was running late.

**oOo**

Monroe sat at his worktable, seeing but not really focusing on the small clock that he was supposed to be working on. His fight with Nick last night nagged at him. Oh sure, he knew that Nick was, essentially, fine, but he couldn’t stop guilt from clawing its way into his gut and nesting there. What Rosalee had said last night had struck a chord with him. He knew that they all had to get over the trauma the Baron had caused, and he knew that it hadn’t been Nick who had dished out the beating. But some part of him simply couldn’t fully get over it.

“Monroe?” He looked to his right where Rosalee stood in the doorway. “Do you want to come to the shop with me?”

Looking at his complete lack of progress with the clock, Monroe sighed and set his tools down. “Yeah,” he answered, getting up and grabbing his coat. “I could use a change of pace.”

**oOo**

The day at the Spice Shop passed quickly. It was busy, the steady influx of costumers keeping Monroe and Rosalee on their toes. Between running into the basement for whatever herb they were almost out of and helping the random person who simply ‘couldn’t wait’ for Rosalee to help them, Monroe was left with little time to think.

Then, somewhere around four, they had a lull. Monroe was in the process of making tea when the door opened and the bell rang. Rosalee had gone to grab them some “lunch” and so it was left to him to help whomever it was that was out there. Sighing, Monroe pulled the teapot off the stove and slipped into the main portion of the shop.

“Juliette,” Monroe greeted, happy to see a friend, “what brings you here?”

The redhead spun, clearly surprised to find him, and only him, in the shop. Still, she smiled, enveloping him into a hug shortly after. “Hey, Monroe, is Rosalee here? I kind of needed to talk to her.”

“No, I’m sorry. She just left to grab us something to eat. If you want, I can call her.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ll call her later, or something.” Instead of leaving right away, as Monroe had expected her to, Juliette bit her lip and stayed where she was. After about a minute she said, “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Here, come to the back, I’ve got some hot water ready for some tea.”

Together they went into the back room where Juliette settled on one side of the workbench and Monroe the other. Monroe patiently waited for her to begin, curious yet wary of what it was she wanted to talk about. The last time she had wanted to talk to him - or Rosalee - she had wanted to know about Wesen and has asked them both to woge. Though he knew that there hadn’t been many secrets between Nick and Juliette since then, Monroe was still, and always would be, hesitant about offering to answer Juliette’s questions.

“Nick said that he had been attacked by a resistant suspect last night,” she said, and Monroe let out a breath, grateful that the grimm hadn’t told her that it was him who had beaten on him. “He said it was a pig-like wesen. Do you know..are they usually pretty violent?”

“Well, that kind of has a complicated answer to it,” Monroe said, unsure of how to respond.

“The last time you told me that, you were trying to cover for Nick’s being a grimm,” Juliette accused, albeit without much anger in her voice.

“No, they aren’t usually prone to violence,” Monroe answered, giving in. “But Chef Ostler was a special case.”

“So you knew of it then?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Monroe sighed. “He killed a friend of mine with his food and Nick asked me for help in bringing him in.” Okay, so it had more been Monroe not giving a rat’s ass if Nick helped while Rosalee begged the grimm to do it, but Juliette didn’t need to know that. “Let’s just say, that he didn’t go down without a fight.”

“So you were there?” Her brows furrowed and then she asked, “Why didn’t you help Nick?” Crap! He hadn’t meant for her to make that connection. Since he didn’t know how to respond to that, he didn’t, which was evidently a worse mistake as it then led Juliette to ask, “Monroe, what aren’t you telling me?”

Oh boy! Did Monroe truly want to tell her the truth? Could he lie to her yet again? The answer to both questions was no but since that created a conflict of interest, Monroe decided that he had to choose.

“It wasn’t the chef who fought with Nick,” he said, slowly and almost wincing by the end of it.

“What?” she asked, looking confused.

“The chef wasn’t who Nick fought. It was me.”

“Monroe!” she cried, though not angrily.

“I know! I know!” Monroe offered by way of explanation. “Look, I know that we all agreed that Nick didn’t know what he was doing and that none of what had happened was his fault, but, last night, facing him, I just kinda reverted back to that night and kinda snapped.”

“‘Kind of snapped? Monroe, the bruising on his side was so bad that I had to assure myself that he didn’t have a broken rib or two.”

“I know, alright?!”

Now Monroe was agitated. He had gone over all of it time and time again but he still came to the same outcome - with Nick bruised and slightly bleeding in an alleyway. He was ashamed to admit that it had actually made him feel better, that somehow he and Nick were even, and should someone ask, Monroe would deny it vehemently, but there it was.

Standing up, Monroe began to pace, his wolf feeling trapped by the accusation he thought he could hear in Juliette’s voice. It wanted to snap at the redhead, bark at her to back off, to leave him alone. A growl escaped him and he could feel a woge start, but he held it back, fighting it. It wasn’t her fault; in fact, she had every right to be angry, though she doubted that anyone was as angry as himself, or possibly Nick.

He stopped when Juliette got in his way, damn near growling again at the intrusion. When he looked down into her face, he didn’t find anger, an accusation, or anything of the like. Instead, he found understanding and forgiveness, and it was almost just as bad.

“Don’t,” he practically begged. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Why not? Monroe, we’re allowed to let things get to us. Sure, you could have chosen a better time to tell Nick how you felt, but at least you didn’t do more harm.”

“I would have had Nick not reigned me in,” Monroe admitted, his eyes going red at the thought of last night. Oh yes, he would have if Nick hadn’t started fighting back.

“Maybe,” she allowed, though she didn’t look like it mattered all that much. “But you didn’t. Monroe, you and I both know that, had you wanted to truly hurt Nick, you could have, and Nick wouldn’t have stopped you or blamed you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he grumbled, somewhat appeased.

Juliette smiled but didn’t respond right away. Finally, she said, “You should talk to Nick. It could help.” Another pause and then, “It helped me.”

She leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek then left, letting him mull that over until Rosalee came back with their food.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

It took a full week after his talk with Juliette before Monroe worked up the courage to talk to Nick. He wasn’t a coward or anything, really, but he wanted to try and figure out what he’d say.The just of it was 'I'm Sorry', but he felt that there should be more than that as Nick would simply dismiss any apology and Eddie wanted to make sure that his friend understood, though he doubted that it would be accepted, that Eddie didn't blame him for the zombie beating. More importantly, Eddie wanted to make sure that Nick wasn't still blaming _himself_ for that.

But how do you do that when you still feel a bit hurt by the actions of said friend? Eddie's forgiveness had been freely given long before Nick had apologized the first time. He had then believed himself over it and able to move on, able to release Nick of any potential blame there might have been to be had. Now he knew that to be untrue as Nick's bruised body could attest to. Eddie knew that, like Juliette, he needed time, and that until he was able to put this all behind him, he shouldn't be in any more fights, staged or otherwise, with Nick. But how did he explain that to Nick without making the grimm feel worse than he already did? Was it simply an inevitability that Eddie was going to hurt his friend? Was there even a way around it all?

As these thoughts ran themselves in circles in his head, Monroe paced in his living room. Back and forth, back and forth, each lap completed with a peek out the window. On his fiftieth lap, give or take a few, Monroe's quick check for his guest was rewarded with the sight of Nick's Toyota pulling alongside the curb. For a moment, Monroe fidgeted, unable to decide whether he should open the door and wait that way so that he could watch the grimm to see how he was feeling or wait for Nick to knock on the door. His nerves warring with his nature, Eddie decided to wait for the knock before he opened it, appeasing his desires via watching his friend as inconspicuously as he could through the window.

From Nick's face alone, Monroe wouldn't have known that the grimm was hurt. Sure his jaw was clenched like it usual was when he was in a lot of pain, but aside from the healing cut there was no other sign of injuries. No bruises marred his face, no winces or grimaces of discomfort. It was in the way he moved which gave it away. The limp on his right side wasn't obvious per se but for Eddie, it was very noticeable. Since Rosalee never mentioned what Nick's injuries were, Monroe wasn't sure what was wrong with Nick's leg but he wanted to know. Then there was the stiffness with which he held himself. Eddie needed nothing more than that to know that the grimm's side was still too painful for him to hide or ignore it as he usually would. Juliette's exclamation of how bad the bruising was had Monroe blushing in shame. Nick was his best friend and yet a small, violent, side of him had taken joy in the pain he had caused. Even now, that same part chafed at feeling guilty and insisted that the grimm had had it coming.

Nick's knock sounded loud to Monroe's ears. He knew that it was no louder than it normally was but to Eddie it seemed to echo through the empty house. "Thanks for coming," he said by way of a greeting. The usual 'Hey Nick' or 'Come on in' just didn't feel right today.

Nick's smile was warm but guarded, as though he were wondering why he'd been asked to visit and expected something bad to come of it. He quipped, "Well since Hank and the Captain have barred me from coming in to work for the rest of the week, I had some time to spare."

Ah yes, Hank had called Monroe and told him that their friend just couldn't stop himself from meddling. To be fair to Nick, the skalengeck that had been brought in on drug charges had involved him. The way Hank had explained it, one Jeffrey Meyers was being hauled towards the charging officer’s desk when he caught sight of Nick. Now, of course, the detecting couldn’t see Jeffrey woge, but that was exactly what had happened. Before anyone, including Hank, could react, the skalengeck had charged Nick. Evidently the grimm’s instincts had kicked in because, without thought to how it would feel later, Nick had kicked the man in the chest, knocking him to the floor. It was an effective move in a fight but it had done Nick’s battered body no favors. While a couple of officers took Jeffrey to a holding cell, so that the new charge of attempted assault of a police officer could be added, Hank had had to see to Nick, who had been doubled over in pain.

 _Come to think of it,_ he thought as Nick slowly made his way to the living room, _should Nick even be moving around that much?_ That had happened two days ago, after all, and the way the grimm was moving now suggested that he was definitely feeling it. Then again, could anyone keep a grimm still? By nature, grimms were a stubborn and proud lot, pushing themselves until they literally could not go any longer and Nick was no exception to the rule. Monroe had seen his friend push and push himself until Eddie had believed the man would simply crack under the weight. There were days when Eddie was surprised that Nick hadn’t lost his mind.

“Dude, would ya sit down already?” Eddie partly snapped when Nick remained standing in the living room. He honestly wasn’t angry at Nick, more exasperated, but they tended to the sound the same when coming from him.

Nick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Monroe squeaked. Clearing his throat he tried again, “Yeah, I’m fine. Well, actually, I’m a bit on edge but I’m sure that you already figured that out. Not that you had, I mean, who knows, you might not have noticed. And now I’m starting to sound like Bud so I’m going to shut up now. Beer?”

He left the room before Nick had answered, or even sat down. What the hell was wrong with him? He had no reason to be so nervous, so edgy. This was Nick after all; they had been through more together than almost anyone else in Eddie’s life. And yet, when Nick was in the room, it seemed like everything about the grimm was condemning him for his actions and that made Eddie feel defensive. Why should he feel so guilty about something that was, essentially, just payback?

Taking a moment in the kitchen alone, Monroe took some cleansing breaths. That smaller part of him was what was driving this, driving him. How did he soothe it so that he was one with himself again? With a sigh, Eddie took the two bottles out to the living room, making sure to take a large swig of his before he left the room.

When he re-entered the room to find that Nick still hadn’t sat down, Monroe felt his annoyance rise and he was very certain that his eyes had begun to glow red because Nick’s expression became more surprised and more worried. “I thought you were going to sit down,” he said as he handed his friend the beer.

“Why are you so obsessed with me sitting down?” Nick stubbornly countered, looking confused. “I’m perfectly find standing.”

“Yeah, and I might believe that had I not talked with both Juliette and Hank.”

Nick’s face seemed to close down at his girlfriend’s name, revealing nothing that he didn’t want to, but by the end of the sentence, he had his usual smirk back on his face. “Fine,” he said, giving in with the raising of his hands in surrender. With an amused grin on his face, he made his way to the couch and then slowly lowered himself onto it. “Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Monroe dryly quipped. Technically it did make him feel a lot better to have Nick sitting down but he refrained from admitting it. This whole mother-hen mode was weird for him and he wasn’t about to call attention to it. In spite of that, he did toss of couple of throw pillows at his friend before he sat down in the armchair next to the couch. He sighed again, waiting for Nick to situate the pillows to his liking before saying, “We need to talk.”

The grin faded from Nick’s face as quickly as chocolate melting in a microwave. Although they were only figurative, Monroe could see the walls which he had previously torn down building themselves back up. Nick’s face grew grimmer, no pun intended, as though preparing himself for news that he doesn’t want to hear. It saddened Eddie to sat that reaction. On anyone it was depressing, in his friend it was heartbreaking and it helped cool his wolf’s ire. It hurt him to know that Nick expected Monroe to, what, walk away from him? To put some distance between them? Either way he spun it, Monroe could come to only one conclusion - Nick thought that Monroe still blamed him and he thought that the clockmaker had reached his limit with their friendship.

“Oh Nick,” he said, unable to stop the words and the emotions behind them from coming out. Other than his current, small, family, had no one stood by this man? “I wanted to say that I’m sorry, for what I did during our fight on the bauershwein case.”

Monroe watched the emotions flick over the grimm’s face. Nothing had shown at first, of course; the walls wouldn’t allow much to come through. But skepticism had slowly started to shine through as Nick’s mind tried to figure out where this conversation was going. Confusion had then taken over and there it had stayed until after Eddie had finished talking. “Did you do something wrong?” he asked, sounding as he looked. “It went well, we convinced Ostler to confess, I’m not sure that I can remember you doing anything wrong.”

“Come on, Nick, you and I both know that isn’t true. I let the blutbad out of the cage and it went a little far.”

“As opposed to when I went a little far while being a zombie?” Nick countered in a tone which indicated a mere arguing of a point. There was even a small smile on his face, though Monroe didn’t take it at face value. The grimm shrugged slightly, careful to keep it only on one side so that he didn’t aggravate his injured side. “The way I see it, we’re even.”

“That’s just it, man, I don’t think we are.” A hardness overcame Nick’s posture that hadn’t been there before, making Monroe wince. Okay, he probably could have thought of a better way of saying that. “No, what I mean is, the situations were totally different. You had _no idea_ what you were doing. You couldn’t even remember doing it. Me on the other hand, I knew what I was about and I knew that you weren’t gonna do anything to stop me. I took advantage of our friendship, of you really, and I used to to hurt you. And I’m not gonna lie, Nick, I liked it.”

The grin was back, only this time it was wry, cold, and humorless. “Well,” the grimm said, looking as though he was planning on getting up.

Eddie leaned forward, putting out his hand to stall anymore movement. “No, hear me out,” he commanded and pleaded in one. Nick stilled, warily listening, but also looking like he didn’t know what to make of this entire conversation and that he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to hear more. After seeing that Nick wasn’t going to push his way off the couch, Eddie leaned back, sighing again. “I know that we’ve all told you that we don’t blame you for that night, and we don’t. But I also know that, somehow, almost every single one of us have managed to keep reminding you of it. Which, I’ll admit, is counter to what we were saying, but Nick, it was harding seeing you like that, and not because we knew that it could kill you. It was hard seeing our friend, someone we loved, in a violent rage, wanting nothing more than to kill us.”

Nick now looked away, his eyes reddening with unshed tears. He knew that this was going to be hard for his friend to hear, but Eddie hadn’t been quite as ready for how hard it was for him to say. It was never easy, hurting some you cared about, loved even. Even though this was necessary, it was still difficult to do. With a quieter sigh, he pushed on. “Now, we didn’t want to hold it against you, but clearly some small part of each of us did. And while Hank was able to keep a tight lid on his, and Juliette’s emerged in the form of fear, but mine was darker and more violent. I didn’t want to kill you, I could never do that, but I did want to see you bloody. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me and it felt good at the time.” He paused in his explanation to allow his blood to cool, to let his eyes return back to brown. “Of course when reality came flooding back I wished that I hadn’t done anything at all but by then it was too late.” His gaze roamed over his friend, cataloguing each hurt, seen or unseen. “The damage had been done.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Nick, I am so sorry.” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought but he hoped that it had been heard nonetheless.

“Me too,” Nick replied, eyes still red and filled with tears which he refused to let fall. “And if you want, once this heals, you can go at me again until you’re satisfied.”

His tone was meant to sound light, joking almost, but Monroe heard the bitter conviction behind it. They both knew that if Monroe wanted to, Nick would let him beat the shit out of him just so they were even. Eddie, settling back into the armchair, shook his head in as vehement a denial as he could muster. “No, man, I’m done with that. This,” he waved his hand towards Nick, “was too much for me. I mean, how did you live with the guilt?”

Nick snorted, “I didn’t.”

And that made sense. If Nick had somehow managed to get over it, he wouldn’t still be feeling guilty, he would be thinking that his friends still held him accountable. No, the guilt was still there and Monroe doubted if it would go away any time soon - for either of them.

**oOo**

When Rosalee entered the house, the atmosphere was somber, quiet. Although she didn’t know what Monroe had specifically said, she knew enough and her heart went out to both her boyfriend and her friend. “Hey Nick,” she greeted, acting as though there was nothing obvious going on. “How are you feeling?”

“Hey Rosalee,” he greeted in turn, not answering her question. Nick, who had originally had his back to her, pivoted so that he could look at her. His smile was warm but she could see the pain that he was hiding behind it. As she made her way over to Monroe, Nick turned with her, moving slowly, carefully. His face wrinkled into an expression she had seen on many a face - pain, and enough of it that he couldn’t hide it from either of them. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalee saw Monroe wince, a frown on his face. Nick, however ignored any sign that they might have given and smiled once more. “It looks like you brought some dinner home.”

All three of them looked down at the bags at her feet. Technically she had brought things to cook for dinner but they all knew that it was essentially the same thing. “As a matter of fact I did,” she answered, now getting up and taking the things to the kitchen. “I’ve invited Hank and Juliette over and I thought we could have a nice little dinner.”

Actually, she thought that they as a group could do with a little bit of healing but she wasn’t about to say that out loud. Nick was likely to brush it aside and Monroe would be awkward and stammer something which would, eventually, turn out to be a dismissal as well. Neither of them were likely to admit that it was a necessity so she simply didn’t give them a choice in the matter.

“You didn’t answer me,” she reminded as she rejoined them in the living room, sitting on the arm of the chair Monroe sat in. “How are you feeling?”

His smile was much colder this time, but it was still there. “I think you know that better than I do,” he answered, stubbornly refusing to admit that he was hurting. She suspected that his biggest reason for pretending was the man who sat to her left; they both knew that Monroe carried guilt over what had happened and, more than likely, Nick didn’t want to add to it. As much as she appreciated that, she found it frustrating as well. Being in constant pain wasn’t good for anyone and it could, in fact, make the healing process take longer.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” she asked, wanting to make sure that more damage hadn’t been done.

There was a pause in which he didn't answer and Rosalee thought that he wouldn't, once again choosing to ignore something to which he didn't want to reply. After a few seconds, the smile took on a warmer, almost indulgent, shade. “I take it you talked to Hank too."

She shrugged. “I was with Monroe when Hank told him.” Which isn’t to say that Monroe wouldn’t have told her later, but him putting the call on speakerphone made that unnecessary. “We still have an hour until everyone’s supposed to arrive and we can close the curtains,” she prompted, seeing him hesitate.

His eyebrows rose at that. “You want to do it right here?”

"Well neither of us think that you could make it upstairs for the privacy," Monroe quipped, expressing honestly what they both knew to be true.

Nick smiled again, conceding the point with a, "Yeah, you're probably right." He sighed and opened his arms, if not as widely on his right side, thus giving her access to his side. With a small smile of her own, Rosalee moved so that she could examine him, helping him remove his coat so that she had better access. She had thought about sending Monroe to the kitchen so that he wouldn’t have to see this, but she decided against it. If Nick could live with seeing the bruises on their faces then Monroe could handle seeing the damage he’d done.

Although the heat was on in the house, it must have felt chill compared to Nick's own body heat because goose pimples appeared when Rosalee lifted his shirt. The bruising looked painful and ugly thanks to the blood underneath the skin having turned old and dark. As a result, Nick's side appeared to be mottled with a couple large patches of yellow-brown paint which had been dabbed on and thinly spread. Her touch was as gentle as was necessary as she pressed over each injured rib, watching him for signs of pain as she did so. He gave in a couple times, where the bruising had been worst, sucking in a breath and clenching seemingly every muscle in his body. Rosalee winced, knowing that it had to have hurt a fair amount for nick to show it as much as he did.

To her right, a growl rumbled. Rosalee was surprised by Monroe's reaction for the simple reason that there was nothing that could be done to solve the problem. Unlike when Nick had been taken by the royals, there was no one for Monroe to take his anger out on except himself. While she didn't want that to happen since it wouldn't do anyone any good, she was heartened by it nonetheless as it was a step in the right direction of putting this whole mess behind them. If Monroe felt angry enough at his friend's pain to let the blutbad show then that meant that his more feral side had started to forgive Nick.

"Nick," Monroe began in a forlorn tone.

Nick held up his left hand in a command for silence, his right being occupied by staying out of Rosalee's way since she was still examining his side. "Don't," he said with stern gentleness in his voice. "You didn't let me keep apologizing to you and I don't want you to keep doing it to me."

Letting Nick's shirt fall down, Rosalee conceded that that was fair as well as true. All of them had insisted that Nick stop trying to apologize after the first few times, doing their best to assure him that all was forgiven and fine. The trouble was that Rosalee could practically hear what Nick had left unsaid - that perhaps if he _had_ kept expressing how badly he had felt, Monroe might not have felt hurt enough to attack him like he had. Glancing towards the clockmaker, she could see that Monroe had heard the same silent bitter comment as well as she had, but beyond apologizing again, he didn't know what to do about it.

"Do you mind if I check your knee?" she asked as she moved to the edge of the couch.

Nick's brows wrinkled in confusion as he looked first at Monroe then back at her. "How are you planning on doing that?"

She smiled, knowing that what he had really meant was - I'm not taking my pants off in your living room. "By touch," she answered, now moving to the coffee table. "It's not an exact science but since I'm not a technical doctor I figured that it didn't have to be. And something tells me that you haven't been taking care of it like you should have."

That got a smirk. "Something or someone?"

"It might have been both," she conceded.

"What happened to your knee?" Monroe asked as Nick waved his hand in a 'Be my guest' gesture. Even without looking at him, Rosalee could tell that he had a slight frown on his face. Evidently the blutbad hadn't known the full extent of the damage he'd done. "Hank never mentioned any injuries."

"It didn't happen while at work." Nick's answer was quieter than it normally would have been, showing that he hadn't wanted to answer the question. He hissed in pain as Rosalee examined the joint in silence, listening to the two men converse.

"You mean it happened during the fight," Monroe summarized in a curiously neutral tone. "What else did I do to you that I don't know about?"

Nick and Rosalee shared a look, each asking the other if they should tell their friend the truth. At a glance, Rosalee couldn't tell that Nick's right wrist had been injured; he wasn't wearing the bandage which she had applied to it the night of the fight and he didn't seem to be favoring it. He hadn't been using it either, of course, but that could have been explained away by the fact that it was his right side which had been hurt.

"Monroe, I'm fine," Nick said, his gaze now flicking over to assure his friend of what would one day be the truth.

"That wasn't what I asked," her boyfriend responded stubbornly.

"Monroe, could you go to the kitchen and grab an ice pack?" Rosalee intervened. Not only did she want to talk to Nick without Monroe there but Nick needed to ice his knee, as well as stay off it for a bit. From what she could tell, it hadn't been hurt worse but the fact was that it hadn't actually healed all that much either. Monroe's expression grew in frustration but he did as she asked. Once he was gone, Rosalee sat back on the coffee table and asked, "How is your wrist?"

Nick thrust his hand into her awaiting palm with an eye roll. "It's fine," he insisted, giving the minutest of winces as she rotated it, “which is Monroe doesn't need to know about it."

“Well, I don’t know that I agree with your first assessment,” she said, releasing his hand and sitting in an armchair. “But I do with your second.” There was another pause and then said, “All this blame and guilt is insane.” Nick’s eyebrows rose in a surprised question but he remained silent.

It was then that Monroe walked in the an old pack of vegetables which has become the official ice pack of the house. “I agree,” he said, coming to stand in front of both the couch and the coffee table. “You should sit back and put your leg up.”

The change in conversations took both Nick and Rosalee by surprise. They both wrinkled their brows in confusion, looking to their friend for answers. Nick moved automatically, scooting back on the couch so that he could lay his right leg across it. Evidently in full mother hen mode, Monroe made sure that he had a pillow underneath the knee almost immediately after he was finished. Handing the ice pack to Nick, Monroe took up Rosalee’s vacated spot on the arm of the chair.

“She’s right, though,” he said once they all appeared settled. “All this blame and guilt, for you, for ourselves - it needs to stop.”

“Easier said than done,” Nick answered wryly.

“Maybe,” Monroe conceded. “But we all have to try.”

Nick eyed the both of them, his blue eyes flicking between Rosalee and Monroe then going back to Rosalee where they stayed. “That’s what this dinner is about, isn’t it?”

“Basically, yes,” Rosalee admitted, nodding and smiling. “Speaking of which, I need to go start it.”

“You want some help?” Monroe offered.

She was tempted to say yes but she thought that the two men still had some things to work out before everyone else arrived so she shook her head. “No, I got it. Why don’t you keep Nick company so he doesn’t go too stir crazy just sitting there?”

“Who says I have to sit here?” Nick countered, clearly not liking the idea. “I could help too.”

“No, Nick, you need to stay off your leg and rest,” she argued back. “You’ve done little of that ever since you were injured and it’s taking you longer to heal because of it. For the next hour or two, you will be staying on that couch.”

“Do you really think an hour or two of sitting around is going to help me?”

“Probably not,” she admitted with an offhanded shrug. “But I also know that it’s not going to hurt you, either.”

She walked out of the room before he could argue further. She loved Nick but she was _so_ happy that she was dating Monroe - blutbadden were definitely easier to care for than grimms!

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

The silence was...what? Deafening? Annoying? Unnecessary? All of the above? They had been stewing in it ever since Rosalee had left them to go make dinner (17 minutes and counting!) and though it frustrated Nick, the simple truth was that he couldn't think of what to say. For him, the subject was closed and anything more would be redundant.

"Is this the part where we hug it out?" he quipped, making Monroe briefly chuckle.

"Honestly, dude, I'm not sure if I could do that and _not_ hurt you."

Nick gave his own short laugh this time, wincing when it aggravated his injured side. "Fair enough," he granted. He looked in the direction of the kitchen, an action which was as uncomfortable as it was awkward since it lay _behind_ him, then looked back at his friend. Nodding his head in that direction he said, "Think we've done enough talking to satisfy her?"

“Probably not,” Monroe answered with his eyes glued towards the kitchen. "So, you never answered my question." He waited a moment to see if Nick would feign ignorance or if he would voluntarily fill in the blanks. Brown eyes looking saddened yet determined focused on Nick as his silence drew his friend's attention. When Nick continued to keep quiet, he asked, "How badly did I hurt you?"

It was enough of an alteration to term the question different, but Nick could still hear the guilt and horror that his friend felt. They were the same emotions he had heard the first time around, which Nick thought were pretty unnecessary given how much they had been through. "Monroe," he began on a sigh, only to be cut off by the blutbad.

"Don't bother with placating me or telling me that you're fine," he interjected with a tone of someone who just wants to get things out of the way. "I know all that. What I don't know is the extent of your injuries after the fight."

"What does it matter?" Nick answered, sounding both defeated and exasperated. He honestly didn't see the point in telling Monroe any of it since it wouldn't help change things and it was all over and done with. Why did he have to keep pushing?

Monroe opened his mouth to argue then shut it before tilting his head to the side as though thinking. "You're right," he admitted, seeming to deflate a little as the fight when out of him. "It doesn't really matter, in the grand scheme of things. It won't change what happened and it won't help you heal any faster." He held up his hands in a pacifying manner which hinted at him letting the subject go. Then he added, "This is the last time I'm gonna say this, but I want to make sure that you hear me." He paused as he waited to make sure that he had Nick's full attention. It was hard for Nick to not throw in a quip to lighten the mood; he knew that Monroe was being completely serious and so he endeavored to be likewise. With as much earnest entreaty as Nick had ever seen him use, Monroe finally said, "What happened last week, during the fight - that won't happen again. I don't blame you for what you did while you were a zombie, just like you don't blame me." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "And I am _so_ sorry for hurting you like I did. The next time something like that happens, stop me."

"The same goes for me, too, you know," Nick answered, feeling a little choked up by the sincerity he felt coming from his friend. He smirked ever so slightly as he added, "If you _can_ stop me."

Monroe snorted at that but let it go. Instead he nodded in satisfaction. "Good." He leaned back to settle into the chair, one leg crossing over the other in a relaxed position.

"So, what? Do we go back to staring at one another?" Nick quipped after a minute's silence.

" _I'm_ going to go see if Rosalee needs any help in the kitchen," his friend answered as he got out of the chair. " _You_ are going to sit there like a good little grimm like Rosalee suggested and watch some TV or nap or something, I dunno. Personally, I don't care what you do so long as whatever it is involves remaining on that couch. Got it?"

"I thought that you were the dog in this friendship," Nick teased, ignoring the fact that he was being treated like a child more than a dog. He smiled when the blutbad growled ever so slightly.

"I thought that we had already had this conversation. I am not your household pet who's just gonna come whenever you call." He paused then tilted his head, looking annoyed as he considered that. Nick raised a challenging eyebrow at that statement but whether or not Monroe noticed it, he couldn't tell. "What am I talking about, that's exactly what happens! But I am not your own personal dog," he added, pointing his finger at Nick with emphasis. "Now, just stay there and relax."

Nick raised his hands in a human imitation of dog paws and said, "Arf!"

With a roll of his eyes, Monroe walked away, mumbling something about "pain in the ass, stubborn, baby grimms", and "being nobody's pet" all the while.

Nick chuckled, wincing when it hurt. He was relieved to know that things with everyone were starting to go back to normal. Now that the tension, which had stifled the air in the house, was slowly dissipating, Nick found himself looking forward to the dinner that Rosalee had planned. Who knows, maybe everyone won't spend the entire time making sure that hey stays sitting down? Nick scoffed at that, ignoring the brief spike of pain it caused as he turned the TV on and changed the channel to sports. _Yeah,_ he thought, _and hell will freeze over any minute now._

**OoO**

Juliette was quiet as she entered Monroe’s home. She had received a text from the blutbad right as she was getting ready to leave work, saying that Nick was asleep and to just come in when she got to the house for dinner. Not wishing to risk waking Nick, whom could probably use the sleep, she did as instructed, making sure to make as little noise as was possible.

The smell coming from the kitchen drew her further into the home where she found Nick passed out on the couch, his left hand resting on his chest, his right arm above his head, and a pillow gently elevating his right knee. He looked relaxed, which was nice. With the direction their lives had progressed, she had seen him this way less and less, which frustrated her; she didn’t like how much stress he was being put under. Unable to stop herself, Juliette ran her hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Nick made a contented sound in his throat, shifting ever so slightly as he did so. His head tilted towards her, his eyelids fluttering as though he might try to open them to see who was touching him. When she did it again, he settled back down, seeming to unconsciously recognize that it was her, and began to softly snore. She lingered a minute longer, content to stare at the man she loved while he slept, then headed for the kitchen.

“Hey!” Monroe quietly greeted. He offered a brief smile before he went back to slicing some eggplant. “I see you got my text.”

“Yeah,” Juliette answered, setting down cloth bags of forgotten groceries. Alongside the message about just coming in, he’d also asked her to pick up a few things, which she had been more than happy to do. “You guys need any help?”

Looking around the kitchen, Juliette doubted she’d be needed. While every surface the small space had was covered, there was a feeling of order to it that told her they had this covered. Still. she would feel bad if she didn’t at least offer. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of simply sitting around while others worked; it felt wrong somehow.

Rosalee paused what she was doing at the stove to look around at the ordered chaos. “I think we got it,” she answered after a bit. Her brown eyes drifted down towards the bottle of red wine which Juliette had grabbed. “But I wouldn’t say no to small glass of that.”

Juliette turned on the spot, searching and finding the wine glasses, then happily poured three cups of wine, handing two to her friends and keeping the other for herself. While the two continued to prepare dinner, Juliette settled in the doorway, blocking any view they might have had of Nick with her own body. That wasn’t her intention, of course, it was simply the only place she could stand and know that she wouldn’t be in their way.

“So how is he?” she asked, not bothering to name whom she meant; at this point there was only one person she could be talking about.

“He’s doing okay,” Rosalee answered in a tone which was obviously meant to reassure her. If it hadn’t been for the slight hesitation, it probably would have, but Juliette could tell there was more to the story.

“You mean, physically, he’s okay,” Juliette said, making sound like a statement as well as a question. She looked over her shoulder at the dark hair peeking up from a pillow. “He’s still struggling with what happened, isn’t he?”

“Less him, and more us,” Monroe answered as he set the eggplant aside and began working on some tomatoes.

There wasn’t much to say to that. While her talk with Nick had helped, it hadn’t made things perfect. Juliette still flinched if he moved too fast or when he raised his hands near her. She hated that she did it, but they both knew there was nothing to be done about it except let time do its thing. She watched Monroe look towards the couch, a curious expression on his face. It was a cross between anger and guilt. The guilt she could understand, but the anger was harder for her to grasp. Was he still mad at Nick for what had happened? Or had he turned the anger on himself for what he’d done to Nick?

“How’s Hank been doing with all this?” Juliette asked in hopes of steering the conversation away from their inability to move on, though she doubted he would talk to any of them about things. Since he seemed to be handling it all much better than they, Hank seemed like a safe subject.

“He seems to be okay from what we can tell,” Monroe answered, passing the diced tomatoes over to Rosalee who put them in a deep saucepot. “Even though Nick really went at him, he doesn’t seem to be having the same problems we are.”

 _Or, he just hasn’t admitted anything yet,_ Juliette thought, but didn’t say. Hank was a good man, a good detective, and he’d been a good partner for Nick ever since they’d been assigned together. On the surface, it looked like nothing fazed him, like nothing ever got to him, but, after some talks with Nick, Juliette knew differently. Hank compartmentalized things until they could be dealt with at a later time. Once the time had come, he’d say his piece, work through whatever it was, and then he’d move on. From what she could tell, neither he nor Nick had talked about anything beyond when Hank had confronted Nick the day Nick had planned on turning himself in. Hank’s time was coming, though, of that Juliette was sure.

“Somebody say my name?”

Juliette startled, somehow managing not to squeal or drop the wine in the process. She hadn’t even heard him come in, how had he done that? “Yeah,” she said, moving out of the way so he could join her in the doorway, effectively joining in the conversation without having to talk directly in her ear. “We were just wondering how you were handling all that’s been going on. With Nick and everything.”

He was quiet for a minute, his brown eyes taking in the three of them before flicking over to the couch where his gaze stayed fixed. “I’m alright,” he unconvincingly answered. When he looked back and found them all staring at him with different expressions of disbelief on their faces, he added, “I’m not saying I’m over it or anything, but Nick and I can work on things when he’s in a better position to.”

“You mean when you can soundly the beat the crap out of him without feeling bad about it,” Monroe scoffed, evidently having guessed what the detective was referring to.

“I don’t know about the soundly, part,” Hank countered, “but yeah.”

“You know that can lead to other problems, right?” Monroe said, leaning against the counter he’d been working on now that he was finished. “I mean, I had the same thoughts, trust me, but it didn’t help quite as much as I had expected it to. Believe me.”

“Look, I know Nick still feels guilty over what happened,” Hank assured, his voice soft so that he didn’t wake the man in question, but his tone earnest. “And I understand your wanting to get payback, but that’s not why I want to do it.”

Okay, now Juliette was lost. “Then why?”

“I can’t have a partner who’s afraid of himself, who’s too scared of the damage he could cause to do his job. I need to break him out of that and make sure that he’s not going to be a danger to me, himself, or anyone else he’s partnered with.”

“You know, in a strange way, that actually makes sense,” Monroe agreed before taking a sip of his wine.

When you considered that Hank’s and Nick’s relationship was based on more than simple friendship, it really did make sense. Hank and Nick weren’t just friends, they were partners. They entered situations knowing, without a doubt, that they had each other’s backs. This whole situation threw that trust out of balance. Hank trusted Nick, that Juliette would never doubt, but this was different. Hank had to know that Nick wouldn’t freeze because he was too afraid of hurting someone. Guilt was a treacherous beast and Hank couldn’t afford to allow it to devour Nick.

“How long has he been asleep?” Hank asked, tipping his head over his shoulder in Nick’s direction.

“A few hours, actually,” Rosalee answered, sounding pleased. “We should probably wake him, though, dinner won’t take much longer to be ready and I’m sure he’ll want time to wake up before we eat.”

“I’ll do it,” Juliette volunteered, figuring Nick would rather see her first thing than any of the others. She filled another couple of glasses of wine, handing one to Hank before taking the other to the living room where the man she loved lay.

**oOo**

Dinner felt like a family affair. All of them mother-henned Nick until he was at the table and in a position they all deemed a dealbreaker - with lots of pillows and his knee elevated. At first, Juliette had been confused as to why that was necessary, but after Rosalee had finished explaining Nick’s original injuries, and the ones that were likely to have been made worse by today’s events, she had quickly jumped on the bandwagon. Once they had all been settled and the food had been served, the teasing had begun, interspersed with talk about the events in their lives in general.

The normalcy of the evening had Nick relaxing in a way nothing else had been able to. Shortly before sitting down, Hank had promised to take Nick to the mat when he was feeling better. At first, Nick had joked about being able to take Hank on, but they both knew that Nick would let his partner kick his ass, then he’d really looked at his partner and he understood what it was his partner wasn’t saying and Nick had smiled, feeling both touched and reassured. Hank’s experience with him while he had been in zombie mode had been the final nail in the coffin of the whole terrible experience. With that having been settled, Nick felt himself begin to feel that things would be okay. They all needed time to get past what had happened, of course, but in the end, they were a family and family stuck together no matter what.

_Fin_


End file.
